


Don't Try This At Home!!

by pentagonbuddy



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Short Metodey, Established Relationship, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Sexual Humor, Trans Linhardt von Hevring, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:02:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23944390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pentagonbuddy/pseuds/pentagonbuddy
Summary: Loosely connected mishaps involving Linhardt, Metodey, and several bad ideas. However will Linhardt finish his dissertation with a boyfriend like Metodey?
Relationships: Linhardt von Hevring/Metodey
Comments: 10
Kudos: 11





	1. Don't Sext and Drive

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, this is a melin smut drawer in a _different_ AU. May update with additional chapters if the mood strikes, but each one is pretty self-contained.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a very explicit chapter, as I could only write a single horny text due to the risk of spontaneous combustion from secondhand embarrassment.

Metodey had his nose smushed against his bathroom mirror, head tilted to the left and a pocketknife flat against his temple. He traced its edge with quick flicks of an eyeliner brush, lowered the knife, checked to see how the angled black streak matched his right eye. It was in that in-between stage where he hadn’t filled in the outlines, which left his eyes surrounded by thin, wispy lines like bent spider legs. He cleaned the knife on his shirt—that was black, too, so it didn’t matter—then set it aside, only for his phone to buzz against the countertop and startle him into jabbing his eye with the brush.

He rubbed the pain away and peeked at his phone screen. The name in the notification, _Dr. L_ , soothed the ache into a much fonder one.

_hey movie is at 7 u on ur way?_

Brush between his teeth, he sent a quick reply. _Yes, can’t wait to see you._

When he looked up his left eye’s makeup was all sorts of smudged, and not in a sexy way. Completely unacceptable.

His phone informed him it was 4:52 p.m. He’d packed for the weekend the night before—always did, just to keep himself busy when giddy insomnia struck—so really, all he had to do was reapply his eyeliner and be on his way.

Another message popped up over the time display. _oh? what will u do?_

Quick enough to send a wink and leave it at that. But as he wiped away the dark smears around his eye he thought of Linhardt behind him, hands wandering down his chest, slim fingers ghosting over his nipples while they made eye contact in the mirror…

Metodey set the brush down and picked up his phone.

The fantasy grew with each with each swipe of his thumbs until his phone split it apart into inelegant chunks (nothing he could do about message character limits, or a tiny computer’s inability to grasp pacing), and then he was flinging his duffel back into hs back seat of his car and himself into the driver’s seat. His phone joined him in the cupholder; he spared one last glance to see if the screen had lit up with a reply in the last thirty or so seconds since he’d last checked in. Even opened it just to be sure, reviewed the last lines of his own message and, well…

It was marked as read. The text itself ended on a bit of a cliffhanger, though. Perhaps Linhardt expected more?

_Maybe you could leave your robe on. Silk feels great on skin, right? I’d love if you bust out those ties, too._

There. That should do it.

As he drove through the city, drumming his fingers on one surface or another at every red light, his eyes kept flicking to the phone in his cup holder at stop signs. Anticipation thrummed in his veins. An unfortunate amount went between his legs, but he was late enough as it was, and anyway there was no way he’d keep that up for a two-hour drive. And after the drive there’d be the movie; those late-night commercials told him a boner over four hours was a medical problem, so it was best to ignore and let the feelings recede on their own.

Oh, but what if Linhardt would take pity on him if he arrived all hot and bothered? And that wouldn’t take long, with Linhardt’s gentle hands and his body pressed against Metodey’s, one leg between his thighs, maybe even right at the front door...

He was at another stoplight now, one he swore was wired with spite. Every time he got to this intersection it was red. At least something catchy was playing on the radio, though it’d sound better if it were a smidge faster with some extra _oomph_ to the beat.

He glanced back to his phone.

Still read, still no reply.

Anxiety, or perhaps further anticipation, plucked at his heartstrings. It didn’t matter which, really. Linhardt had probably just left his phone charging somewhere and forgot about it. Maybe went to shower, or nodded off in his bed and lost it in the soft crevices of all those pillows he had.

One more update, then. Surely Linhardt would tease him about getting this worked up on the drive over, and picturing the quirk of his lips while he did so just made Metodey harder. His pants were tight enough that it was obvious.

He didn’t have time to really snap a _good_ shot before sending it off. Just his pants; it left plenty to the imagination. Linhardt had a delightful one, but even so...Metodey threw in a brief message to maybe give him some ideas. Brief and to the point this time, though. Someone said something about brevity and wit, after all, and there was honking behind him. Even though he only had a few words left, he tossed his phone aside and stepped on the gas—no need to bother with silly little fantasies when he could have the real deal in his hands if he hurried.

But those last few words smoldered in his thoughts. He’d sent the first part already, so it’d only take a moment to finish the rest. One hand on the wheel, one on his phone. Efficient, really. And he was still paying attention. If he got desperate enough this sort of setup might let him take care of his other distraction on the way, though he was quick to dismiss the idea. How could he deny Linhardt his fun like that?

In fact, he was paying such close attention that he noticed a red-and-blue flash in his rearview mirror, along with the mismatch of angles in his sharp-tipped eyeliner. _Damn._

A siren whooped to life and he dropped his phone, swearing as it bounced off his boot and under the seat. His eyes caught the speedometer when he looked up. Funny, he didn’t think he was going that fast. Everyone else was just abysmally slow, save for the cop creeping up behind him.

His phone had read a little after six when he dropped it and his car’s clock was wrong for some reason. He could slam the gas or the brake pedal, and only one of those would get him to Linhardt’s apartment in time.

It wasn’t that he was trying to outrun this pig, not quite, but the head start gave him time to think. He’d had this car, his Lancer, the Ralliart model not the boring base one, since his senior year of high school. At the time he could almost pass it off as something from _Gran Turismo_ with its sleek rear spoiler, though these days he could admit to himself that it didn’t exactly ooze style.

Style wasn’t what mattered now. What mattered was the side-street coming up on his left that he swerved into, proud of how quick the turn was amidst an eruption of honks and squealing rubber.

Residential area. Twenty-five in those, not that the speed limit mattered, either. He turned and turned in a winding maze, smacking his steering wheel with a curse when he ended up in a cul-de-sac.

Ah, but there—an open garage door.

He zipped up the driveway and into the garage until a tennis ball that dangled from the ceiling smacked into his windshield. Thank goodness he wasn’t wearing a seatbelt. That made it easy to fling himself from his car and stumble towards a panel near a door that probably led inside. Nevermind about the door; Metodey slammed his palm against the panel and his face lit up with a grin as the garage door shuddered down. Metodey slid to the floor with it, laughing when he heard a car whizz down the street nearby.

Should he mention this to Linhardt? It was pretty funny, after all. Almost unbelievable. Metodey looked to his hand and found it empty—his phone was still under the seat of his car.

There was a creak, then a rectangle of light from the open door joined his headlights in illuminating the garage. A rotund silhouette stepped forward into a swirl of dust motes.

“What the...” A man’s voice said.

Metodey was behind the door still, as luck would have it, and he stood with his back flat against the wall. His car still chugged away in front of them, open driver-side door and all. Then the door that must have led inside closed and his headlights cast this man’s shadow back toward Metodey.

Oh, now wasn’t _this_ dangerous? Not the situation—well, yes the situation—but the _thrill_ , the electric pulse that shivered through Metodey’s body as he slammed the garage door’s control panel and the man finally turned around, eyes saucer-wide like some dumb animal caught in the darkness. He’d had no idea! None at all!

He was getting some ideas about what was going on, for his jaw clenched and his face scrunched up, but the poor sap was too slow to stop Metodey’s rush. Caught off-guard, he was easy to shove aside. Easy to ignore his shout when his shoulder jammed into a shelf, sending bric-à-brac clattering to the floor; no trouble at all for Metodey to slide back into his car.

It was not, however, all that easy to wait for the garage door to open.

Metodey kept glancing between the man, who groaned as he got back to his feet, and the garage door as it inched back up. This wouldn’t be fun for much longer if he didn’t get out of here. It certainly wasn’t fun when he looked to the garage door one moment and heard his car door jiggle the next. Metodey’s reflexes still proved to be the quicker between them; he slammed the lock on just in time.

So then the man slapped his window in lieu of being able to open the door. “Hey asshole!”

Ha! Let him huff and puff all he liked! Metodey answered his questions with nothing but a toothy grin from behind the glass, snickered when he threatened to call the cops. But then he picked up a pair of garden shears and raised them to the window, blunt handles ready to smash.

Ah, time to go. A quick glance over his shoulder made it seem like the door was open enough for him to shift into reverse and shoot back out, laughing all the while.

* * *

He didn’t bother trying to find his phone the rest of the drive. His hands shook far too much after that little stunt; it was difficult enough just to grip the steering wheel, and he kept expecting colored lights to flash in his mirror again. That whole mess took care of his arousal once the excitement twisted into anxiety, too, and the lack of reply from Linhardt had him wondering if he’d made a fool of himself. Nothing assassinated the mood quite like guilt.

By the time he parked at Linhardt’s apartment—one of the spaces saved for residents but he’d deal with that later—the shakes were gone, though his stomach churned and his tongue was dry. A stale water bottle from the back seat helped with both. He sat in his car until he’d guzzled the whole thing down, then opened the door, sucked in the crisp night air, and crouched on the asphalt to fish around under his seat. Wrappers, an empty Monster can, something sticky—not the Monster, he hoped—ah, a rounded corner, that had to be it—

“Why are you still out here?”

Metodey’s head thudded against the underside of his steering wheel when he tried to stand. Wincing, he rubbed the spot with his free hand, then looked over his shoulder.

Linhardt looked down at him, backlit by the golden-orange glow of a streetlight that made his silk robe shimmer as he raised his own phone to check it. The blue light from its screen lit up his expression, a pleasing study in contrast against his placid expression. But...still in his robe? All that rush and he hadn’t even finished getting ready?

Metodey scrabbled at his phone until he fetched it from under the seat, then wiped his hand on his skinny jeans. He checked the screen and saw a single _?_ from Dr. L, right under stark numbers that pointed out it was after eight.

“I...ran into some traffic.” He slipped his phone into his back pocket. ”Sorry. Should have mentioned—”

Linhardt’s lips were against his before he could finish, soft and flavored with lip balm. Some sort of cherry. Metodey liked it. He licked his own lips to savor the taste after Linhardt pulled back. “Don’t worry about it. I ended up napping, anyway.”

Metodey snaked his arms around Linhardt’s waist and pulled him into a hug, more forceful than either of them expected. He ended up pressed against his car with Linhardt, who sighed in his ear about how he’d need to park somewhere else.

“I suppose it can wait,” Linhardt added, running his fingers through Metodey’s hair, “And we’ll just go out tomorrow.”

Each brush of his hand sent shivers through Metodey; the small pleasures from those fingers brought back his earlier feelings, which mingled with the drags of adrenaline left in his system. The sympathetic nervous system, was it? Or parasympathetic? Linhardt had gone into it at some point. Whatever hormones were responsible, a fresh jolt ran through Metodey when he felt Linhardt’s nipples through his robe...the only thing he seemed to be wearing.

When he looked down to confirm, Linhardt tilted his chin back up, directing Metodey’s attention to the other man’s smirk.

“I got your texts. You weren’t driving, were you?”

Though Metodey slipped his fingertips just inside the robe, Linhardt took his hand and slipped it out. Fair enough; they were still in the parking lot. “I pulled over.”

Linhardt stepped back, his droopy eyes narrowing into a squint while his eyes roamed Metodey’s face, his body, searching for...something. It didn’t matter. Even his skepticism made Metodey shiver, with its focus that peeled him apart.

“...How unusually responsible.”

Metodey closed his car door and hurried to the back seat, his face flushed with warmth. Anything else he said would surely incriminate him. Everything back here had been scattered at some point; he tossed aside all the junk until his duffel bag was free, then slung its strap over his shoulder and turned around.

Linhardt was stroking his own chin. “Hm, fine, we’ll move your car after.”

“After?”

“It sounded like you had some plans.” The smirk still on his face, he started heading towards his apartment. ”Personally, I prefer the ones with a bed—doors and counters aren’t exactly cozy.”

Metodey almost tripped on a curb in his haste to follow, though he caught himself just in time to see Linhardt glance over his shoulder with a gentle sort of exasperation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was based on [this tweet](https://twitter.com/josubk/status/1253698562162114566) and many conversations about the sort of person Metodey would be in a modern setting. Still awful! But in _different_ ways.


	2. Don't Be Horny On VC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has oral sex, with masculine language used for Linhardt's bits. Also features a cameo from Hanneman, who is just trying to be a responsible professional, unlike _some_ people!

While Metodey always enjoyed his time at Linhardt’s apartment, some visits overlapped with pesky days allotted for _working_ on the _weekend_ thanks to some deadline or other that snuck up on Linhardt. They always seemed to find a way, no matter how many sticky notes or planners or phone reminders Linhardt used, and if it weren’t such incomprehensible material Metodey would have been more than happy to do the work for him.

In fact, Metodey had offered earlier today—he’d passed organic chemistry after all, albeit with a bit of fudging here and there—until Linhardt brought up synapses and neural connections and the interactions between one’s hippocampus and amygdala and Metodey wondered if someone had made a nightcore remix of that song he’d heard on the radio the other day. It was pretty catchy as-is, but not enough energy or _oomph_...

A quick search later confirmed yes, but not a good one, and he was left to dig up something better while Linhardt sequestered himself away to work in his bedroom.

Somehow Metodey ended up fussing with his own remix, not that he knew much about music, but he’d figured out how to make it faster, so that was a start...A terrifically boring start, he had to admit. Why couldn’t the jitters of sound just arrange themselves into something better?

Metodey shut his laptop and tossed it on the other couch cushion, where it nearly bounced off to the floor until he lunged to catch it. It wasn’t much longer before he was reduced to lying on his back, staring at the ceiling and wondering how long it’d been. Surely long enough that Linhardt had done enough work for the day. Besides, he was hungry and they hadn’t sorted out plans for food earlier.

When he chanced a peek in the bedroom, he found Linhardt buttoning up a dark blue dress shirt with his back to Metodey. Metodey crept around piles of laundry—clean, he was pretty sure, and made a mental note to fold them later—until he could slide his arms around Linhardt and bury his face into the side of his neck. His hands drifted to the shirt’s hem, then underneath, where there was only a pair of boxers.

“Surprise for me?” Metodey breathed. Loose hair from Linhardt’s bun tickled his lips.

Linhardt pried a wandering hand off his thigh, then turned around and rested his own hand on Metodey’s chest. “No, I have a meeting with my supervisor soon.”

Metodey looked down to the boxers, then back to the halfway-buttoned shirt.

“Over Skype.”

Even if it wasn’t _for_ him, Metodey still considered the look a treat. His hands itched for something to do. He wanted to run them along Linhardt’s sides, over the soft chub of his belly, past the hem of his boxers...but settled instead for buttoning the rest of his shirt.

“How soon?” Metodey asked, stopping one from the top. He could see Linhardt’s collarbone, bright against the dark fabric, and didn’t resist the urge to trace it with his finger.

“Not _right_ now...”

Though Linhardt lifted his hand away, he held it afterward and Metodey followed the other man to his desk. A fan whirred nearby, the breeze brushing his ankles as he climbed into Linhardt’s lap. The fan was for the computer, really—Linhardt often complained it made him cold—but he needed it to keep his computer cool while it was mining bitcoin.

How did that work, anyway?

The question glommed onto his thoughts as he pressed his lips to Linhardt’s collarbone, then his neck, the underside of his chin...He wanted to ask about it but Linhardt seemed rather busy. Both of his hands were at his desk, fussing. Metodey shifted to get a better look; Skype was open and he’d started a call.

Surprise jolted through Metodey at such a brazen gesture, until an automated voice greeted them to discuss an audio test.

He snickered into the crook of Linhardt’s neck, about to comment until a finger at his lips shushed him. Well, then he nipped at it, gasping when Linhardt pressed the finger in further. Metodey took the invitation to wrap his tongue around it and suck, even though Linhardt’s eyes never wandered from his computer screen. _Tsk._

The voice requested a brief message and he slipped the finger from his mouth, a thin bead of saliva still connecting them as he leaned over to declare “I’d rather suck Linhardt’s dick.”

Linhardt glanced at him—however petty the victory, pride bloomed in his chest over it—then pushed Metodey from his lap and shooed him away. This did little to stop how Metodey doubled over, laughing when the call played his crude words back followed by the chipper pre-recording about microphone configuration.

Linhardt sighed. “Don’t say anything like that while I’m on this call.”

Well, it probably wouldn’t be a long one. Hopefully. Metodey straightened out and rubbed the back of his neck, wondering whether he could find somewhere off-camera to sit or if he was being dismissed from the room.

...Neither, it turned out, as Linhardt spread his legs and waved Metodey back over. “It really _will_ be in a bit, so hurry up if you’re actually interested.”

“Oh. Oh, of course—”

“ _Shhh_.”

Metodey pinched his thumb and index finger together, ran them across his lips in a zipping motion, and crawled under the desk.

It really _was_ colder with that fan; a chill crept up the gap between his own shirt and pants as he settled between Linhardt’s legs, thankful for the warmth of bare legs on either side. The implicit command to hurry scattered all questions about bitcoin, replacing them with thoughts of Linhardt’s face while he kissed him through his boxers, his jaw slack and eyes squeezed shut, red all the way to the tips of his ears…

But when he stuck his head out far enough to check, Linhardt was hunched over the desk, resting his chin on one hand while his face remained still and droopy-eyed as ever, save for the way his hand squished one cheek higher than the other. Metodey could see up his nostrils from this angle. Huh.

Linhardt kept his gaze fixed forward, idly clicking on something with his free hand. “Y’know, I don’t _need_ underwear for this.”

Metodey felt his own blush heat his ears as he nodded, heedless of whether or not it was seen, then hooked his thumbs under the waistband of Linhardt’s boxers. Linhardt lifted his hips and Metodey was delighted to find that despite his sonorous voice and dull expression, he was already wet with the bud of his dick peeking out. Wetter still under Metodey’s tongue, which lapped at him in long, slow strokes despite the threat of interruption—Linhardt was always teasing him about something or other, so why not give him a taste, hm? 

And what a taste it was, the way Linhardt angled himself ever so slightly towards Metodey’s hungry mouth. Holding back, it seemed, as the melodic pings signaling a call sounded from above. Now Linhardt would just have to sit there, flushed and eager for more yet forced to wait.

 _Serves him right_ , Metodey thought as he smeared his own hand across the back of his mouth. Payback for all the times Linhardt had left him tied down and desperate until he was mewling for release like some impatient chump.

...Well. Not exactly the same sort of situation. He wouldn’t want anything less when it came to all the delicious ways Linhardt denied him, and Linhardt’s only reaction to the lapse in attention was to greet his supervisor in the same even tone he used with Metodey.

“Hello, Hanneman.”

“Nice to see you on-screen for a change.” His supervisor’s voice was tinny over the speakers. “Now I’ll know if you’re actually paying attention.”

“I always pay attention.”

“Is that so? Because I’ve heard snoring on more than one—”

“Ah, well, there’s a lot to cover today.” Linhardt sat up straighter and scooted his chair closer. “Shouldn’t we get started?”

The movement pressed Metodey’s back to the wall. It turned out there wasn’t much room under this desk without his face between Linhardt’s legs.

Metodey didn’t bother paying attention to the details of their conversation. Though he could listen for hours to Linhardt pick apart the nuances of his dissertation, Metodey would focus on the shape of his lips while he spoke, pulled into a grin or pursed while he thought, and the sparkle in his eyes...Sometimes when he stared he’d pretend there was a whole universe of knowledge in their darkness; even if he couldn’t comprehend its depths he could at least look up and admire the stars.

Nothing sparkled down here. There were Linhardt’s knees and his thighs and his dick, all things Metodey could look at but not really touch, considering the circumstances. Like stars, in a way, though if he had his choice of exploring thighs or space he much preferred the thighs.

His own hair was stuck against his forehead; he blew a puff of air in a vain effort to move his off-color bang, and Linhardt shifted in his seat.

A hand wandered down not long after, petting Metodey’s hair. He was content enough to close his eyes and lean into the touch. Times like these, with Linhardt’s thumb caressing the shell of his ear, he almost grasped the appeal of naps. Even though his own knees were starting to ache, he could probably drift off into one if Linhardt kept this up, but the massage turned into a nudge, gentle yet insistent, until Metodey was urged to resume his earlier position.

Linhardt was obviously still on the call.

Somehow that made him taste better. Hanneman’s voice wasn’t doing the mood any favors, nor was Linhardt’s mild demeanor or the aches accumulating in Metodey’s joints, but the supervisor’s droning became a distant muffle when Linhardt squeezed his legs together and oh, it was hard to breathe but worth each delirious air-starved second. It was such a scandal to be down here in the first place, and the feeling of it shot straight between his own legs as he gripped Linhardt’s thighs to keep himself surrounded by that heady warmth.

He was giddy when he lifted his chin at least enough to breathe through his nose. Hard not to snicker when he pulled away, harder still when his breathless panting made Linhardt twitch. It inspired Metodey to redouble his efforts once his lungs didn’t sting so much.

If he _actually_ got something out of Linhardt he suspected it would embarrass him in the not-so-fun way—the kind that resulted in stern lectures and cold looks—but that thought was pushed into the same pit as his queries on bitcoin while he focused on Linhardt’s dick, dancing around it with the very tip of his tongue, kissing and flicking and sucking until finally, in one triumphant moment, a moan drifted down to his ears.

 _Almost_ a moan. Linhardt was quick to hide it in an exaggerated yawn, one that prompted an apology to Hanneman.

“ _Goodness_ , I didn’t realize how, ah, tired I was,” he continued.

“Yes, well, you can nap later.”

At that, Linhardt leaned forward and there was some bloop from his computer. “Oh dear. Hanneman, can you still see me? My screen went black.”

“Hm? Nevermind about that, I suppose.”

“Sorry, didn’t quite catch that. Rotten timing.”

“I said nevermind—”

“I can still see you. Oh, you must be talking. I’m afraid I can’t hear. Let me try something real quick...”

Another shift and Metodey heard Linhardt unplug his microphone long enough to hiss a single _fuck_ before plugging it back in. “Is that better?”

“I still can’t see you.”

“Hmm, yeah, still can’t hear you.”

Quick clicks and clacks from Linhardt’s keyboard, a crackly sigh from his computer speakers. Metodey’s neck was stiff by now.

Linhardt rolled his chair back, nearly sending Metodey on all fours as he lost his balance. He crawled forward to close the distance again, sparing a moment to look up, and what he saw was better than his fantasy: Linhardt, head tipped back and mouth in a pleasing _oh_ with his bun all askew as if he’d run his hands through it. Sure, he could still see up his nostrils, but it was a lovely view all the same.

And Metodey abandoned it without a second thought in favor of closing his eyes then diving back down, though he tucked away the image for his own pleasure later. Instead, he indulged in all the tactile signs of bliss around him—especially the way Linhardt started to quiver, even as he typed some exchange with his supervisor.

“ _Yes_ , I think we should reschedule.” More grousing from Hanneman over the speakers, some muttered complaint he must have thought Linhardt couldn’t hear. “No, I’m not...I’m not upset about it. After your class is fine.” Linhardt’s hand was tangled in Metodey’s hair again, pressing his face close enough for curled hairs to tickle his nose. ”Really, I don’t mind the wait.”

When the call ended with a noise like a _whoosh_ with an echoed _ding_ , Metodey hummed a mockery of the sound against Linhardt, relishing the chest-heaving gasp he earned in response. It didn’t take much longer before Linhardt was grinding his hips into Metodey’s tongue, both hands in his hair, thighs squeezing his ears, all the tension spilling over into a shudder that rolled through Metodey’s body, too.

Once the last waves of it had passed, Linhardt sagged into his chair, arms dangling from the sides. He’d been quiet while he came, as if it were still a secret to hold tight between them, with bit lips and ragged breaths until it left him in exhales through his nose. Quick, then slower, then back to a sigh.

Metodey couldn’t help but tease out a few more gasps now that there was no need to hold back. This was when Linhardt was the most sensitive, after all, turning even the gentlest lap of his tongue into something that got a response.

Once that response was a hand that shoved him away, Metodey looked up and savored the last traces of Linhardt on his lips. Ha! The other man’s blush had crept all the way down his neck.

Still gazing at nothing in particular, he raised one limp hand and patted the top of Metodey’s head; when he finally looked down it was with the starry-eyed satisfaction he saved for good days with his dissertation. Truly a rare sight.

With his head on Linhardt’s thigh, Metodey was close enough to hear his stomach growl. He reached out and drummed his fingers against it, vaguely recalling a sped-up rhythm from earlier along with his own hunger. Makes sense he’d still be hungry, despite the recent treat. 

“I think _someone_ forgot to eat,” Metodey said, then patted Linhardt’s belly one last time before he stood, just to see it jiggle. “Good thing _I_ came to remind you.” 

“No you didn’t.”

He paused in the middle of rubbing his knees. “Did too.”

“The first thing you did was start groping me.”

“You were downright hypnotic. Mesmerizing. A feast for the eyes—”

“Perhaps we both forgot about food.” Linhardt was already back to his usual calculated serenity, though traces of pink remained in his cheeks and strands of green hair stuck to his skin. He undid his bun entirely, letting his hair unfurl.

“Let’s go order something, then,” Metodey leaned over to sweep some hair from Linhardt’s face and tuck it behind his ear. ”And come listen to this thing I did.”


	3. Don't Forget to Say Goodbye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Wank Week](https://twitter.com/fe3hwankweek) inspiration struck and I wrote this for the toys/exhibitionism prompt! Nothing particularly ill-advised happens in this one, but it's in the same AU and I have at least one more chapter of this planned, so I tucked it in here instead of a new fic.
> 
> Linhardt is trans and the language around that references vaginas and dicks.

When Linhardt’s call went through, the first thing he saw on-screen was a blurry mouth. It came into focus a moment later as a crisp, toothy grin once Metodey adjusted his laptop’s screen and leaned back. He was on his bed; his laptop must have been on a stool or something at the edge. It wasn’t a bad idea—he could squirm and settle into his pillows without bumping Linhardt’s view—but he hadn’t put any thought into the lighting. His face glowed with a ghostly pallor, lit by the stark light of a computer screen.

“Hey,” Linhardt said, and then when he saw Metodey’s shirt, “ _Hey_.”

“Hey?” Metodey echoed.

“That’s my shirt.”

Metodey pinched the neckline between his fingers and looked down as if he needed to check, as if he hadn’t worn it on purpose. Green blouses weren’t exactly his style.

“I’m just borrowing it.”

Linhardt frowned at his own screen. “I’ve been looking for that.”

“I’ll bring it with me next time I’m down.”

It wasn’t like he’d stretch it out, since it was loose and large enough that the sleeves went all the way to his knuckles. Cute enough on him that Linhardt could forgive the petty theft for now.

Linhardt’s frown softened into a smile as he adjusted his own laptop, which was in his lap with its back against his raised knees. While this didn’t make for a flattering angle, he at least had a lamp on in front of him so that Metodey could actually see his face. Besides, it was the kind of call he could only have in his bedroom, and what better place than his bed?

Metodey was already reaching for a bottle of lube. “Ready for some fun?”

“You’re going to start regardless of what I say.”

He paused with his hand on his dick. “I can wait.”

Linhardt thought it over, left him with a long, drawn-out _hmm_ until he’d stroked himself enough to get hard. “Then wait.”

True to his word, he slipped his hand away, though it wasn’t long before he started squirming. Every now and then he’d glance over at his nightstand, where the cylindrical case of one of his toys sat within reach. His hips rolled into nothing but air when he grabbed it, then unscrewed the lid to reveal a sci-fi reimagining of the human vagina. No, not human—alien, the site had asserted when Linhardt bought it, even if the main difference was its garish blue color.

Metodey traced the edge of his Fleshlight with his fingertip. “...C’mon, Linhardt. Please?”

“Hm, I suppose I didn’t specify a time. Hasn’t been very long though…”

“ _Please_?” They’d been on the call for less than ten minutes and a desperate tone had already crept into his voice.

“Since you asked nicely, go ahead.”

A few more strokes and a some more lube later, Metodey’s dick slid into the blue case. He let it sit there for a moment before he pressed it in further with a sigh, his head lolling against his shoulder. The case was wide enough that it always looked difficult to maneuver with one hand, but Metodey was more than happy to rise to the challenge, which kept his other hand free to lift his stolen blouse so that he could play with his nipple.

Not a bad view. It’d be better with some proper light, but this way had a candid atmosphere, earnest and clumsy with its own charms. Though one of his own toys was nearby, for now Linhardt was content to turn on the noise cancelling for his headphones and listen. Metodey’s headphones had a microphone attached; despite how far he was from his laptop, it sounded like he was nearby, happily thrusting away while Linhardt idled on his phone or maybe read something. As nice as this was, Linhardt soon tired of the increasingly wet smacks that accompanied Metodey’s gasps.

“You’re not wearing a condom.”

“Eh?” Metodey cracked one eye open. “So? I clean it every time, promise.”

Linhardt held his chin as if deep in thought. “What if the alien gets pregnant? Interspecies child support can’t be cheap.”

“Is that all you’re going to do?” Now Metodey had both of his eyes open, which crinkled up at their corners as he laughed. “Watch and tease?”

“Don’t you like that?”

“I thought we’d, you know.” He jerked his free hand in an imitation of his other one. “Together.”

“For all you know I’ve been touching myself this entire time.”

Metodey whined. “Then let me see.”

Linhardt hadn’t moved from his slouch. Now was as good a time as any. He had Metodey’s view in full screen, but his own must have been quite chaotic while he moved his laptop and sat back. Metodey didn’t seem to mind—once he got a good look at Linhardt, a wide grin spread across his face.

Linhardt ran his own hand along the silky-smooth fabric of his stockings, taking a moment to snap one of the garter straps against his thigh. Like Metodey, he’d opted not to wear any underwear. They’d planned this ahead of time, after all, so it was more efficient, and by the time he’d rolled up his stockings all the way he hadn’t wanted to fuss with anything else.

“Hm, maybe I spoke a bit too soon.” He slid his hand down the inside of his thigh. “But now I am.”

“Tilt your screen.”

Ugh, that meant sitting up again. “Can’t you see enough?”

“Your face. I—I want to see your face, too.”

Who could say no to such a charming request? Linhardt almost did—it would’ve been easy—but he had to sit up to reach for his vibrator, anyway. Once Metodey was satisfied with the angle, Linhardt flopped back against his pillows and squeezed out a dollop of his own lubricant. 

This whole thing was wrapped up in artifice. The thought struck him as he slicked up his vibrator, which was firm in the same way Metodey was right now, but an entirely different texture. More spongy, less warm. Just as goofy as Metodey’s Fleshlight, which made no attempts at realism either—from the reviews Linhardt had read, he was fairly certain there wasn’t any vortex suction when Metodey fucked him. Metodey didn’t vibrate either, which was almost a shame, since even at its lowest setting, rubbing the vibrator between his own legs was enough for him to bite his lip.

Now wouldn’t that be something? Him with a neon vagina and Metodey’s dick whirring away. It made Linhardt snort. Metodey pestered at him about what he was laughing about until he said why, then they both had a good chuckle over it even as they kept going.

Pleasure reverberated through Linhardt’s body once he started thrusting the vibrator in and out in slow, steady motions. His pace was far more relaxed than Metodey’s frantic thrusts; his wrist cramped with a phantom ache at the thought of trying to match him. They had different bodies with different needs, and what Linhardt needed right now was a comfortable angle for his vibrator, preferably hands-free.

His eyelids were heavy enough that he allowed them to droop shut.

“Linhardt, _ah_ , Linha—ha—”

Metodey’s voice was distant but high pitched, stuttering higher for a moment before it drifted into a sigh, followed by soft gasps as he caught his breath. 

Even with his eyes closed, Linhardt could unfortunately picture Metodey’s face right now.

“Doctor Hevring?”

“M’not a doctor yet.” Linhardt’s eyes fluttered open to a much gentler expression: Metodey’s sultry gaze and flushed cheeks, obvious despite his washed-out lighting.

“You fell asleep.”

Linhardt yawned. At some point he’d clicked the vibrator off, though it was still between his legs. Maybe it was time to call it a night? He glanced at his screen where Metodey watched, resting his head on this ghoulish body pillow of his. Hatsune Miku as a pointy Terminator, though Metodey had explained in depth about how it wasn’t either of those, but rather an unrelated character cosplaying as Miku and— 

Instead of slipping the vibrator out, Linhardt turned it back on, sending fresh waves of pleasure through him that rose higher when he rolled his finger in slow circles around his dick. That ought to get the job done, but…

“Awful lot of work,” he said, thrusting the vibrator with his other hand. “No wonder it knocks me out.”

“Oh, I bet I could keep you up.”

Perfect. That was the sort of comment he wanted to hear—give Metodey the opportunity for some crass joke and he’d take it every time.

“How, exactly?”

Metodey hugged his pillow closer while he described his ideas—the ones Linhardt nodded at became future plans—until somewhere along the way the focus shifted back to Metodey, who now gushed about all the ways Linhardt could torment him.

Did he even notice the shift? Or was it all part of the same euphoric thread wound around that dirty mind of his? Linhardt wouldn’t judge him for that (he would, however, judge some of its contents), since he knew he was no better. He closed his eyes and worked both his hands, faster as he supplied images to go with Metodey’s words, ones that left his toes curled and his breaths shallow. It wasn’t much longer before his legs quivered and the pressure between his legs coiled tighter and tighter until he slid the vibrator out and had it buzz right against his dick and then he rolled his hips into it—

He collapsed against his blanket, spread eagle with limp legs. The buzzing was annoying after a little bit; he turned the vibrator off, then rolled onto his side. His own pillows were much nicer to look at, but lying here like this, his laptop close and Metodey mirroring his position...It didn’t feel that far at all. He could almost reach out and tuck Metodey’s bangs behind his ear.

Instead, he hovered over the _end call_ icon.

“Not going to clean up?” Metodey sneered at him from the other end.

“Later.”

He tapped his touchpad but not in the right spot, since after he closed his eyes he heard Metodey whisper something that wasn’t a farewell, mushy enough that he decided not to respond. He did, however, smile as he drifted off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone wondering what Hatsune Miku looks like as a pointy Terminator, [now you know! ](https://vignette.wikia.nocookie.net/vocaloid/images/a/a2/Ca_Calne.jpg) And yes there is in fact [a body pillow of her](https://otakumode.com/shop/53d71e0e79457cdf42001cce/Ca-Dakimakura-Cover)


End file.
